Pimp sleepwalking

I love my workplace.  I talk about playing racist volleyball and using pimp sticks and no one bats an eye. 
...

As I have done most of my life, I spent last night out playing at the CNE until late instead of doing "responsible things" and upon returning home after midnight, was faced with the task of having to pack and prepare myself for the next three days of volleyball tourney that I had in front of me.  And also, as I have done most of my life, I had not planned far enough ahead to have my favourite gear and clothing ready and washed to pack for this weekend. 

Some time after 1am, I threw a half-load of the things I absolutely needed into the wash and convinced myself that I could go to bed for a bit because I'd definitely hear the "I'm finished" alarm on the washing machine.  The plan was that I would then get up and throw the clothes into the dryer before going back to bed so that everything would be clean and dry and waiting to be thrown into my bags in the morning during my dash out the door to work. 

So this morning.

First of all, I slept later than I should have.  When I woke, I realized I couldn't remember falling asleep.  And then I realized I couldn't remember getting up and then going back to sleep.  Crud.  And yet.  When I walked down to the laundry room, not only did I find that I'd managed to get the load into the dryer (WITH a dryer sheet), I had somehow had the sense about me to hang up my incredibly-shrinking-dress to line dry as well as Malcolm's dress shirt.  Amazing.

After seeing all of the things as I'd apparently left them the night, I could vaguely recall being down in the laundry room in a ridiculous stupor, however, to save myself the strain of trying to recall details, I'm happy enough to believe that the house elves did it for me.  Or the bats.